The Doctor is Out
by NellyN
Summary: With the Doctor in a coma, Rory and Amy search for help at Stormcage Prison. But River Song may need more help than the Doctor's companions. Something is coming... Part 1 of 2
1. Rory?

"Rory? Rory?"

Rory Williams was cold. He had seldom been colder. But that didn't make any sense. They were in bed. They were safe in their own bed on the TARDIS. He knew it. So why was he shivering?

Then he realized the problem. There was no they. He was alone.

He sat straight up, every hair in his body on end. "Amy!" he gasped.

But—ah—there she was. Amy Williams, his childhood friend, his wife. Right as rain. Just… sitting on the end of the bed, wearing one of Rory's sweatshirts and watching him. He relaxed and slumped backwards, letting drowsiness slip over him. "Oh, Amy." He extended an arm. "Come back to bed, love, it's still early."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "Rory. I think it's l-late." She was pale as milk, her eyes wide and bright as doe's, and she was trembling. Her voice was small, like the voice of a child.

Rory braced himself on his elbows, still addled by sleep. "What's the matter?" he said. "Nightmare?"

"No," said Amy. She held up a hand to make him be still. "Listen."

Rory rubbed his eyes. "I don't hear a thing."

"Yeah," said Amy, nodding empathetically.

He got up for good this time, scooting to the end of the bed to take Amy's hand. Her fingers were as cold as his. Then he realized it wasn't just their emotions that chilled them. The room was freezing.

"We're in space, right?" said Amy.

"That's what the Doctor said," Rory agreed. He yawned deeply. "Middle of nowhere. Peace and quiet. 'The Leadworth of the galaxy,' was the exact quote, I think." He made a face. He'd been born in the quiet village of Leadworth, spend his whole life there and planned to go back someday. Just not today.

"Hey," said Rory. He hugged Amy and kissed her cheek. "I know it's a bit... weird being out here at night. How about I go find the Doctor and ask him to park us back on Earth? Just till dawn."

He moved to get off the bed, and Amy grabbed his shirt. "Don't leave me."

"All right," said Rory. He pulled her closer, wrapped an arm around her, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "In the morning, then. We'll go together."

"No." She shook her head. "Listen, Rory. Really listen."

"All right," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm listening."

They sat together in silence for a moment.

"Um." Rory hesitated. This was slippery ground. "Are you trying to make a point right now? Is this a metaphor?"

He felt her roll her eyes against his chest. She groaned in frustration. "Not to me, oaf. To the TARDIS."

Rory re-calibrated his attention, listening to the ship around them. It was quiet and echoey, making their own little space seem that much more alive and intimate by comparison. "Nothing," he said. "It's quiet."

"But we're _in a spaceship_," Amy insisted.

"Okay," said Rory. "So…"

Her hand tightened around his. "So why aren't the engines turning?"

Rory went still. He focused on his ears. Heard nothing at all, besides his heartbeat and Amy's. No hum of electricity, no blow of air, no friendly wop-wop of TARDIS engines. And it was very cold.

"But…" said Rory. He shook his head. "It can't break. It just can't. Even if it could… the Doctor would fix it. Wouldn't he? He'd fix it."

"He would," said Amy. "I know he would. He'd fix it no matter what." She paused, letting that sink in. "So why hasn't he?"

Under Rory's arm, Amy's body was hard and ferocious as a stone angel's.

"Rory," she whispered. "Something happened."


	2. He's not dead

"He's not dead," said Rory.

They were in the control room, one of the biggest rooms in a very big ship. After some debate they'd decided to go looking for the Doctor. They'd gone for the control room first because it was the only room they were sure could find in the dark. The TARDIS was bigger than Rory's imagination, and sometimes the less-used rooms changed location or disappeared entirely. But the control room was always in the heart of the TARDIS. They went there immediately.

Lucky thing, too, because they'd found the Doctor right off.

He was slumped on the floor, unconscious, knees drawn up to his chest.

There followed several tense moments. Rory said, "Stay back," but he didn't follow his own advice. He was in the room in seconds, kneeling by the Doctor's head.

Amy had to brace herself against the door. "Is he breathing?" she called after her husband. "Rory, just tell me."

"Shh!" said Rory, all Casualty Department nurse now. He held up a palm. "Stay there."

How do you measure the pulse of a man with two hearts? Rory had no idea. He felt both the Doctors' wrists and found a heartbeat in both. It was slow and the rhythm was off. But maybe it was just fine for a time-traveling alien. No way to know. The Doctor was curled in a foetal position but not contorted. His face was slack, his limbs loose as a sleeping child's. His skin was clammy but not especially warm or cold. He was breathing, but the breaths came shallow and quick. He did not respond to Rory's shakes, shouts or pinches.

"_Rory_," said Amy sharply.

"He's not dead," Rory repeated. "I think it's safe to come in."

A moment later Rory's wife knelt beside him, clutching the Doctor's limp hand, patting it and fretting.

"What happened to him?" Amy demanded.

"I don't know," said Rory. "He's not hurt. It's like he just…" Rory shook his head. "It's like he just fell asleep. Except he's barely breathing, Amy, look."

"I see," she said. She swept the Doctor's hair aside, her face all tenderness, causing a little pang deep in Rory's heart. "I don't think I've ever seen him sleep before. Not without help." She gently lifted both his eyelids, but they could see only the whites underneath. Amy's face lit with anger. "But how could something get him _here_? Inside the TARDIS he's safe. We're all safe."

"Maybe you're wrong," said Rory. "Maybe something got in."

They looked left and right at the silent ship.

"Like what?" said Amy.

"_I don't know_," said Rory. "Come on, let's put him a recovery position. If he lays that way he could choke."

Rory showed Amy how to roll the Doctor so he wouldn't swallow his tongue. When they were done it did seem like he was breathing a little better. But who knew? Just because he seemed human didn't mean he was. Maybe moving him had made things worse. Maybe Amy and Rory would kill him just by fumbling around. That was just one of the problems Rory had with the Doctor's world (which was Rory's world now, too): they weren't playing by Earth rules anymore.

"Should we cover him?" said Amy.

"Can't hurt," said Rory, though he didn't know for sure. "It's cold in here."

Amy clattered around the control room fishing in lockers and trunks. From one she took a long brown coat, which she draped over the Doctor's still form. She handed Rory a spare blanket, then wrapped one around her own shoulders.

"Now _this_ feels familiar," said Rory.

"I don't think we're dreaming this time," said Amy. "I think this is real."

So did Rory. He chewed a knuckle said, "Do you think he's regenerating? Becoming a different person? You were with him last time. Is this how it starts?"

Amy shrugged, then shook her head. "I didn't really see it," she said.

"We have to do something," said Rory. "If he doesn't wake or… change."

"I know," said Amy.

"I'm not even sure the air is circulating," said Rory.

"I know."

"We could die in here. We have to do something."

"I'm open to ideas," said Amy.

So they sat together and thought. What Rory knew about the Doctor and TARDIS could fit on the head of a pin, so he thought about home, and Amy, and the past, and the future.

Every ten minutes or so, Rory checked the Doctor's pulse and breathing. Every time he checked, he felt even more sure in his conclusion: deep coma. The Doctor might wake up in just a moment, or never again, and there was no way to know until it happened. But if he didn't stir soon, Amy and Rory were going to have to take matters into their own hands. But how were they supposed do that? He looked at the array of buttons, wheels and switches on the control panel and despaired.

Nothing came screaming out of the dark to eat them. And the Doctor didn't die.

After an eternity, Rory felt Amy move.

"What?" said Rory.

"Thought of something."

"Just do it," said Rory. "I vote yes."

"Yeah, but I want to explain it anyway." She rose and stretched, then began pacing the room like an anxious cat. "When I was a little girl, the TARDIS crashed into my garden. Remember?"

_Remember?_ Amy's magic police box remained one of the seminal stories of Rory's young life. And that was before he knew it was true. He nodded.

"It was totally out of control," said Amy. "It might have crashed anywhere in the world."

"All right," said Rory. "With you so far."

"So why _my_ garden? Why did it fall there?"

"Lucky, I guess."

Amy shook her head. "Nobody's that lucky. I needed this box, Rory." She patted the scaffolding affectionately, staring up at the central column. "I didn't know it. But I needed the Doctor. To fix the crack in my wall. And he needed me. To tell him it was there."

"And feed him fish custard," Rory pointed out.

"Shut up, dear," said Amy. "I'm saving our lives here."

Rory gave her a friendly salute. "Listening, mum."

"The TARDIS was broken. But it still went right it needed to be, at exactly the right minute. The right second. And that's not the only time it's... sort of gone off on its own."

"It took us to see the lizard people in that little village," Rory recalled.

"Exactly," said Amy. "Sometimes the box goes where its told, but sometimes... I think it goes where it _needs to be. _Maybe all the time."

"Wait." Rory gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumbs. His head was starting to ache. "Are you saying we should just hit some buttons, pull the lever, and this thing will go whizzing off into the vast unknown?"

"No," said Amy. "Not the unknown. It'll go somewhere good. Maybe somewhere we can get help."

Rory sat on the floor with his mouth half-open.

"Look," she said, a little angrily. "If you think it's stupid—"

"I do think it's stupid," said Rory. "And dangerous. And completely irresponsible."

Her face fell.

"I also think it's brilliant. We should absolutely do it." Rory extended a hand. "Help me up."

"Yes!" Amy punched the air, then pulled Rory to his feet.

###

Their faces loomed over the controls.

"Don't touch that one," said Amy, pointing at a blue button. "He's always been very keen on not touching that."

"Okay," said Rory. "What else?"

"Don't pull the big lever till last," said Amy. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Rory echoed. It was about the only piece of equipment on the TARDIS that he recognized: the lever that made it go zoom.

"I'll go first." Amy chewed her lip, then carefully pressed a big red button that she'd always wanted to press. She took a few steps backward and gripped Rory's arm. They both looked up at the vast gold cavern of the TARDIS control room. At first there was nothing. Then a hiss like steam escaping a kettle, and a sound like _tung_.

The TARDIS shook, then settled.

They both looked at the Doctor, half-expecting him to leap back to life.

He was the same. His eyes didn't even flicker.

"Okay." Rory was a little surprised that the whole thing hadn't simply exploded.

Amy nudged him with her elbow. "Your move."

He found the one that looked like a brass egg beater and wound the crank. He wound it as hard as he could. It made a snick-snick-snick noise. When he stopped TARDIS buzzed like a game-show buzzer.

That was the signal for _go_. They went nuts on the control panel, winding every windy bit, depressing every button. Rory picked up the phone, dialed 999, and left it off the hook. Amy pounded SAFETY into the typewriter, and HELP. Rory hit a set of green buttons with a little rubber mallet. Dials were turned to 11, all levers switched to _on_ or open, and when a panel of circuit breakers popped open, Rory hit them all at once. Every giant button you ever wondered about, every ignition key, every mystery switch: they all seemed to be somewhere on the control panel, and Amy and Rory were determined to press them all in whatever sequence seemed appealing. Soon they were laughing and whooping like children, and the TARDIS rocked and swayed like a bottle in the ocean.

"No power, ha," Amy said, flipping a set of switches.

"I'll show you power," Rory said.

Presently there was just one lever left. The big one.

They both arrived there at the same moment, out of breath. The TARDIS was making sounds neither of them had ever heard before, and white smoke was collecting in the center column. There was a persistent smell of burnt sugar.

"What if it really is broken?" Amy murmured.

"What if we die?" Rory countered.

They looked at each other.

"I love you," they said at exactly the same moment.

Rory put his hands on top of Amy's, and they pulled the lever together.


	3. It was not a smooth ride

It was not a smooth ride.

The box spun end-over-end at a mile a minute. Amy screamed. The lights flickered. Rory thought he was going to be violently sick. He smelled burning plastic and wood, then felt a terrible deadly pressure, like he was being squeezed through a toothpaste tube. There was a heart-shaking concussion, and for just a moment they were suspended in free-fall. Then the scaffolding loomed, and Rory hit it face-first. The TARDIS had hit ground, but it kept moving, skipping like a stone across a pond. Each landing threw Rory into the air, then back to the ground.

After about a million years, the box came to a standstill.

Moaned like a lost child—and died.

"Argh," said Rory, some time later. He wiggled his fingers and toes, felt his nose. He ached everywhere, and felt dizzy, but was basically healthy. "_Blimey_. Never doing that again. No thank you." He shook off the dizziness, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Gggh." Then, somewhat louder: "Amy!"

"Yes?"

"Y' alright?"

"Fine," she said. "You?"

"Argh," Rory repeated. "Fine. Where are you? I can't see a bloody thing."

"You could open your eyes," said Amy, her soft breath right in his ear. "Just a suggestion."

Rory rubbed the back of his neck, then took her advice, blinking his way back to consciousness. Amy sat right next to him. There was hardly any light inside the TARDIS, and what there was was silvery gray, like moonlight. But he could see. "D' you see the Doctor?"

"I got him," said Amy.

She certainly did. Amy was sitting lotus-style, leaning against the central column, with the Doctor's head in her lap. She looked anxious and a little banged-up, but hardly the worse for wear.

"Is he alright?"

"He's no worse," said Amy. "And we're alive. We all lived."

"I guess we did." Rory took a few moments to catch his breath. "Any idea where we are?"

"No," said Amy. "But... it's raining."

It was a little bit worse than rain. Water drummed on the outside of the TARDIS and rushed down the tiny windows. The air tasted of damp and ozone. Brisk winds buffeted the ship, and Rory heard the low rumble of thunder. Lightning flashed constantly, suffusing the ship in flickering white light. And there was another light, bigger, steadier, closer to the ground. Moving. It swept across of the TARDIS, causing both Rory and Amy to blink, then faded away. A few moments later it came around again. Lighthouse? Rory wondered. Had they been marooned at sea?

Fat lot of good it would be if they were.

"Okay," Rory sighed. He braced himself on the control panel, then staggered to his feet. "I'm just going to have a look round."

He decided to do just like the Doctor. Throw open the doors and take the universe it as it came. He strode across the control room, hopped off the scaffolding, opened the doors the police box, and stuck his head outside.

After a long moment, he slammed the TARDIS door, locked it, and sat down next to Amy.

"What's out there?" she demanded.

He was out of breath, shivering, drenched to the skin from head to waist. He took off his T-shirt and squeezed some of the water out of it, then used it to wipe his face. "Storm," he gasped. "Really, really _big_ storm."

"I could tell _that_ from here, idiot," said Amy. "What else?"

"Well," said Rory weakly. He swallowed, then coughed. "Prison."

Amy blinked. "What? What do you mean, prison?"

"I mean prison," said Rory. "That light that keeps shining down on us? It's a searchlight. From a guard tower. There's... men with guns, and barbed wire and... prison. We're in the exercise yard." His eyes went wide as he realized something. "Oh my God," he groaned. "We stole the TARDIS, and it took us to _straight to prison _and why are you smiling?"

"It worked," said Amy. She kissed Rory on his damp cheek. "Oh, it worked. Everything's gonna be fine, Rory. We're geniuses. We're safe."

"Safe from escaping, maybe."

"No," said Amy. "Really safe. I know where we are."

"Where's that?"

"_Stormcage!"_ said Amy.

A flash of lightning punctuated her words.

"Yeah?" Rory groused. "And what's that when it's at home?"

"Prison," said Amy. "It's the biggest most secure prison in the universe."

"Oh. Good."

"And we someone who's in," she said. "A friend. River Song!"

"Who the hell is River Song?" said Rory. If there was one thing he'd learned about space, it was that he didn't want to make any new friends. Even meeting the Doctor hadn't done them very much good.

"Oh, come _on_," said Amy. "The woman from the Pandorica? 'Dated an android?'" She looked deeply into her husband's eyes, eagerness and relief giving way to a renewed worry. "Rory, tell me you remember."

Rory remembered the Pandorica. Too well, sometimes. He woke up in the night sometimes, dreaming of Amy's box, feeling it bearing down on him. But it was difficult keeping it organized. The Pandorica had happened and not-happened, and he'd been a different man and just the same. It was like looking at his own self through smoky glass: distant and unclear and untouchable. It worried Rory. He'd told the Doctor about it and the man had simply looked piqued and told him not to think about it. Useless advice. But the Doctor had a way of making things real just by saying them—which _also_ worried Rory, but not as much.

"Sorry," he heard himself say. "No; I'm alright, it's just sort of... off." He rocked his hand back and forth, indicating doubt.

"Well, she's _brilliant._ She'll know just what to do." Faith restored, she leapt to her feet. The Doctor's head rolled from her lap and hit the scaffolding with a thump. "Oh, sorry Doctor," said Amy. "But we're getting help. River'll be here in a flash. Wild horses wouldn't stop her." She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the Doctor's forehead. "Come on, Rory. Oh, this is perfect."

She ran out the doors.

Rory leaned on the control tower with his arms crossed.

A moment later Amy came back in. She looked like she'd been thrown into a swimming pool while wearing her nightie.

"On second thought," she said weakly, "maybe we ought to get an umbrella?"

Yes. An umbrella, and a change of clothes and clean socks and a _bigger_ umbrella. And a pair of torches, and macs and galoshes and some snacks from the kitchen. Then an argument about whether they should put the Doctor in bed or leave him as he was (they left him, with pillows). Then Rory said they should use the loo before going out because you never knew. All of this done in the damp and the dark, shouting at each other over the pounding rain and the thunder.

They met again at the doors, almost half an hour later.

"Okay," said Amy. "Let's go."

Neither one of them moved.

"We're delaying," said Amy.

"No kidding."

Amy looked over her shoulder. "You think he'll be all right?"

"I'm starting to think he's better off than we are," said Rory.

"Wait," said Amy.

She hopped back onto the scaffolding and knelt next to the Doctor. She reached under his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Rory was scandalized.

Amy said, "We need the sonic screwdriver,"

"What would _we_ do with _that_? Bake it into a cake?"

"If we must." Amy pulled a small wallet from the Doctor's jacket and flipped it open. She showed it to Rory. "Here, what does that say?"

It was the psychic paper, and it was blank. "Nothing," said Rory. "It's not working."

Amy made a face and tossed the wallet at him. A few moments later she came out with the sonic screwdriver—a pen-sized metal cylinder with bits on, which reminded Rory of anything _but_ a screwdriver. She also took the Doctor's TARDIS key, which she gave to Rory, because she had her own.

"If we get separated," she said, "meet back here."

"All right," said Rory.

"_Now_ let's go." Amy snapped open the umbrella.


	4. How did one break into prison?

How did one break into prison?

Turns out it's simple enough. Just walk up to the first guard you see and surrender.

The Stormcage Guard were men—at least, they looked like men—in black suits and tinted helmets. To Rory they looked like a corps of motorcycle cops, and they all had big black guns. Really big, really black guns.

One of the guards was approaching the TARDIS, though Rory doubted the ship was particularly visible through the rain and the dark. Amy glanced up at Rory, then marched right up to the dark figure.

"Oy," she said. "Who's in charge around here?"

The guard froze. It processed Amy for a moment. Then it pointed the gun at her.

"Amy!" Rory yelled. He pushed her aside—

And found himself face-to-face with the business end of the biggest weapon he'd ever seen in his life. A line of red text appeared across the front of the helmet. YOUR ENTRY IS UNAUTHORIZED, it read. Then it emitted a burst of static.

Three other guards walking the yard froze, turned, and walked in tandem toward Amy and Rory. Slowly. Inexorably. Mechanically. Across each helmet glowed the words YOUR ENTRY IS UNAUTHORIZED.

"They're robots," Rory murmured.

Amy blanched, then glared at the nearest guard. "Unauthorized, eh?" she said ferociously. "And whose fault is _that_, d' you think? Falling down on the job a bit, aren't you?"

"Amy," Rory whispered. "What are you doing?"

The guards were getting closer. They lifted their guns and took aim.

"Improvising," Amy whispered back. She turned back to the guard. "I'm Mrs. Williams," she declared. "Inspector from the Ministry of… um, Prisons and Jails. And I _demand_ to be taken to you leader. Right now. Rory, show 'em."

"Show them what?" said Rory.

"Our _identification."_

"It doesn't work."

She did not look away from the robot guard. "Just try it."

"All right," said Rory. With shaking hands, he flipped open the psychic paper and shoved it in the guard's face. "Take _that."_

YOUR ENTRY IS UNAUTHORIZED, said the guard.

Rory and Amy exchanged a glance.

YOUR ENTRY IS

Then it stopped. Just stopped. Like someone had shut it off.

Rory glared at the mechanical soldier. Then he pivoted, showing the paper to the gathering army. The approaching guards stopped in their tracks.

A moment later, all four of them lowered their weapons.

Their helmets went blank.

Rory looked at the paper. He didn't see anything at all. Just a sheet of paper.

Interesting.

"Y—Yeah," said Rory. "What she said. And then some. We're inspectors." He tucked the psychic paper into back pocket of his jeans. Crossed his arms and stood tall. "And when we get back to headquarters," said Rory, warming to his role, "I'm going to file a very sharp report on you lot. Very sharp indeed. _Especially_ you." He pointed at the one Amy had approached.

New words coalesced on the round helmet.

YOU WILL FOLLOW.

"Rory," said Amy. She rested a hand on his arm.

"You call _that_ guarding? You know what I call it? Rubbish, that's what."

YOU WILL FOLLOW, read the helmet.

"Rory, I think we're in."

"Oh," said Rory. He lowered his finger. "Right."

The guard pivoted and began a slow march. The back of the helmet said: YOU WILL FOLLOW. The other guards fell in behind them, guns held at the ready. Rory couldn't tell if they were being led somewhere as guests, or taken prisoner. A pernicious doubt churned in his stomach. But at least they were moving forward.

The walls of Stormcage loomed. Amy took one last longing look at the TARDIS.

Its blue walls were shrouded by rain and shadow; its light gone out.


	5. The Stormcage Guard

The Stormcage Guard of mechanical men led the two young humans through an automatic door. When it hissed shut behind them, Amy wondered if it would ever open for them again. But maybe that was better. If there was no way back, the only thing to do was keep moving forward, and put as brave a face on it as possible.

And Amy was putting a very brave face on, because Stormcage had been designed to intimidate. The hall they stood in was very narrow. Amy and Rory could not walk abreast; she walked behind him, clutching sonic screwdriver so tightly that her knuckles burned. But it was not a small space. The ceilings were quite high—so high that their steps echoed and Amy could not see where the light was coming from. There was only one door, at the far end, and as they walked she realized it was painfully distant. You had to really want to get out to that courtyard. Or really want to get in.

She could see no way that a prisoner might make a break for it. The Tower of London could take lessons from Stormcage. How she and Rory were going to find River Song and get back to the TARDIS, Amy didn't know.

The further they walked into the prison, the heavier the air seemed. Amy felt a leaden weight in her chest. Even with no windows she could hear the pounding of the rain and the thump and shake of thunder. When Rory reached back and took her hand, Amy didn't resist.

They arrived finally, weary and out of breath, at a huge metal door.

The guard in front of them paused for a moment, and Amy guessed it was communicating silently with the door or the prison. No way to move without a guide, Amy realized. No hope of escape without a confederate. And machines couldn't be bribed or corrupted. The violent storm was almost incidental. If you were in Stormcage, you were in till they let you out.

Good thing we've got the guards on our side, then, thought Amy.

The great door swung open. The forward guard stepped in, then stood aside.

Rory was the first to see it. He staggered backwards till he ran into Amy. She pushed him back out, then stood beside him.

And nearly fell into a bottomless pit.

They stood on a narrow walkway with a thin safety rail at waist height. The stop was so short, and the drop beyond so deep, that Amy was completely disoriented. Like Rory, she staggered backwards—and ran into the door, which had shut behind them.

For a moment, all she felt was awe. All around them, as far as the eye could see: cages! Cages of metal and stone, arranged in an ellipse, with the scaffold at the outside edge, and nothing at all at the center. Her jaw set, Amy crept to the edge, gripped the railing with one hand and looked up. The cages went all the way up to the sky, if it was the sky. A watery yellow glow came from the very top, and the lines of cells faded into it. There were cages below as well. She could not see the floor; it disappeared into blackness.

Where were they? My God, where the bloody hell were they? A planet? A meteor? A space station? The Doctor had never said, and now Amy wished very much that she'd asked more questions.

A thick, evil odor sank into her nose.

She realized it had been there all along, just beyond her awareness, but now it couldn't be avoided. It was awful. The stink of iron and excrement and fear and death. Her eyes watered, and she threw her elbow over her nose and mouth, breathing through her sleeve. It was more than a stench. It was a feeling. Amy felt intimately violated, just standing there.

Something terrible had happened here. If she was a real prison inspector, she would have shut the place down, right then. Shut it, set everyone free, and burned it to the ground.

Rory put and arm over her shoulder and drew her close. "Do you know what it is?" he whispered.

"This isn't right," Amy whispered back. River would never have willingly gone back to a place like this. The Doctor would never have allowed it to happen. The prison had changed since Amy had last heard of it. "It shouldn't be like this."

YOU WILL FOLLOW, said the mechanical guard.

"We should keep going," said Rory. "Try not to look."

They followed the guard. Amy kept her attention to the left and tried to ignore the gaping chasm to her right. But it was difficult. Especially because the prison cells told a story that was no more comforting than the stink, and the pit.

There were things in the cells. Unmade beds, desks with chairs askew, photographs and drawings. But no people. No people and no sign of people. Not even a sign of a struggle or a riot. Every single cell was unoccupied. River had been in one of those cells.

"Where are the prisoners?" said Amy. She tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Where are all the prisoners? Did something happen to them?" Would it happen to _us?_ she wondered silently.

YOU WILL FOLLOW, said the helmet.

At regular intervals, there was a door just like the one they'd come through. At first, Amy tried to keep count, but soon she was unsure, and then was completely lost. Except for the different objects inside the cells, each part prison looked the same as the others. Same view, every which way you looked; same arrangement of cells, same anonymous doors. Like being locked in a hall of mirrors. You could wander in here for a lifetime and never find your way out.

And all around them the relentless drip and gurgle of the storm.

The guard stopped at one of the steel doors. Moments later it slid open to admit them.

Another long corridor, this one winding and labyrinthine, as confusing as the walkway. But finally they arrived at a special door, made of wood. Amy shifted her grip on the sonic screwdriver concealed in her coat pocket. Wood was the powerful little tool's one weakness. Amy would not have known what to do with the screwdriver anyway, but a wooden door still bothered her. Even if they'd been with the Doctor, he might not be able to get them out of this one.

The guard knocked twice on the door. It stood aside and switched the gun to its shoulder, standing at attention.

YOU WILL ENTER, said the helmet. YOU WILL ENTER.

The knob was just in front of Rory's hand. He looked at Amy, who nodded.

Rory turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Warm golden light spilled into the hallway.

"Hello," said a soft, whimsical voice. "Welcome to containment. We've been expecting you."


	6. Amy and Rory

Amy and Rory stepped into a small but well-appointed office that—but for the stone walls—would have been at home in any university on Earth in their own time.

Behind a carved wooden desk sat a kindly-looking old man in a suit and tie. He had deep blue eyes, bushy silver brows, a patient smile, and a look of gentle authority. Like a kindly uncle or your favourite teacher.

If your uncle was mental.

But his seeming calm was not the only reason he made Amy uncomfortable. It took her a moment to realize it, but his distant gaze and loopy smile reminded her not a little of the Doctor. The idea repelled her._ Run away, _her heart pounded. _Run away._

"I am the warden," said the old chap. "How may I be of service?"

Rory seemed equally undone, but he flashed the psychic paper. "Prison inspectors, sir," he said weakly. "And so far its going very badly for... um." He trailed off.

The warden was staring at them. Just staring, sort of smiling.

A chill ran down Amy's spine. She and Rory had seen a whole range of responses to the psychic paper, from acceptance to awe to anger, but they'd never gotten _no reaction at all_. It was like the man couldn't even see. _What was that?_ Some kind of drug? Mind control? Six months ago, either option would have sounded ridiculous. Now they barely scratched the surface of what was possible._ How would the Doctor handle this?_ she wondered, and the answer came back at once.

Amy swallowed her fear and confusion, took a deep breath, and said, "Are you all right?"

"I am the warden," said the man, smiling.

There were two chairs in front of the desk. Amy stepped forward and sat in one of them. She put her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin in her hands. The position left her staring into the warden's sweet, empty eyes. "Listen," she said slowly. "If you're in trouble, if something happened to you, please tell us." She tried to smile. "We're not much," she admitted, and she knew they weren't. "But we'll try to help. I promise. Just tell us what's happened."

She put her whole heart into the urging, working as hard as she could to appear friendly and accepting. "If you were hypnotized, or, or infected.."

The man's expression did not flicker.

_ "_Amy," said Rory, warning in his voice.

"It's all right," Amy murmured. She waved him away. "I don't think he can hurt us."

"I'm not worried about _him_," said Rory.

Having no luck with pleading, Amy tried a different approach. She waved a hand in front of the warden's face, then continued. "My husband and I came to visit someone. A friend of ours. River Song. Do you know that name?"

The warden did not perk up so much as _come alive_. "Oh, yes," he said. "River Song is a prisoner."

Amy felt like she had scored a point. "Yes. Yes she is. Now we're getting somewhere. So: can we see her? Please? It's very important."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," said the warden. "The prisoners have been punished."

Amy blinked. "What, all of them? What does that mean?"

"Justice has been served."

The warden smiled and smiled. There was nothing behind that expression. Amy used her feet to push her chair a few inches backward. But she did not break eye contact, nor lift her chin from her hands. Everybody gets a chance, a little voice inside her whispered. Everybody.

"Amy," Rory murmured.

"What?" said Amy. "I'm a bit busy down here."

"You're about to get busier," said Rory.

Amy shook her head like she was waking from a dream. She looked up at her husband, who was still standing, staring up at ceiling like it was about to come down on them. Then she heard it.

Then she _saw_ it.

Of the two of them, it was Rory who had the keener senses. Amy knew the TARDIS and the Doctor best. But out here in the world, Rory was the one who had picked up the first signs of trouble. Just on the edge of Amy's perception was a high-pitched squeak, an _eek-eek-eek _that sounded almost like something winding up. Or winding down. She looked where Rory was looking. The ceiling was made up of metal panels, bolted in with screws. And one of the screws was turning. _Eek-eek-eek, _it went. It seemed to grow longer and longer.

Rory frowned and held up a palm. The screw dropped into his hand. "What—"

He was interrupted by a loud bang, then another. Something was pounding on the loose tile. There was something up there. It was strong. And it was trying to get in.

"Okay," said Amy. "Run?"

"Run," Rory agreed.

They got up and dashed to the door. Rory tried the handle. "Locked."

"It can't be locked!" said Amy. "We just came in that way!"

"Well, it is!"

_ Bang! Bang! _The loose tile shuddered and shifted. Amy could see a tiny gap now between the tile and the others. All she could see through it was darkness.

Rory shouted through the door. "Guard! Guard! For God's sake, let us out."

"Wait," said Amy. She pressed the sonic screwdriver into Rory's hand.

_ Bang! Bang!_ Another scuffling noise, and the gap got wider.

Amy jumped over the warden's desk. She gripped his bony shoulder. "Look, you idiot," she hissed. "A minute ago you said the prisoners had been punished. All the prisoners."

Behind her Amy heard the whiz-whistle of the screwdriver heating up.

"It's not working," said Rory.

"Keep trying!" Amy called.

_ Bang! Bang!_

"Justice has been served," said the warden.

"Yeah, I know, whatever," said Amy. "Just tell me: what was it? _What did you do_?"

"There is only one penalty," said the warden pleasantly.

"Say it," Amy hissed, her jaw set.

The warden smiled his charming, hideous Doctor smile. "Death."

"Amy," said Rory.

_ Bang—_

The panel fell open, and darkness spilled out.


	7. In the darkness

And in the darkness and the noise:

A snap, a sizzle. A ball of watery green light the size of a plum rolled across the floor and landed at Amy's feet. Moments later it was joined by another, and another, till the room they were in did not resemble the darkness of the grave so much as the dim at the bottom of a shallow pond.

A human silhouette dropped from the ceiling and landed on the far side of the room. "You know how much they spent building this rock?" Another snap, another sizzle. Another ball of shimmering light slipped from the figure's hands and onto the floor. It barely illuminated a woman's friendly face and eager smile. She was wearing a dark coverall and carried a guard's gun. "All that money, and they can't drop ten quid on decent lighting. Break _one thing_ and they all go out. Still, that's the Shadow Proclamation for you." There was rich humour and subtle meaning in her voice, a sort of verbal wink. "_Hello_, sweet-"

The woman's voice died in her throat as she registered Amy and Rory.

Amy still stood next to the warden, her mouth half-open. Rory was hunched over the wooden door, clutching the sonic screwdriver. It whistled away at full speed, until Rory remembered to lift his thumb from the control.

The sound petered out.

Above them, the loose ceiling panel swung perilously.

"_River?_" Amy gasped.

"Amy Pond." Then River said, "Oof," because Amy had leapt back over the desk and thrown her arms her.

"Thank God. We thought you were dead." Amy stepped back to look River in the eye. "What's going on?"

For now that the good cheer had drained from River's face, it was clear that _something_ was going on. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but River seemed staggered by the presence of the two companions. Her eyes darted round the room like a trapped bird's, hunting for an escape or an explanation. She seemed to find Rory especially inadequate, her jaw tightening at the sight of the sonic screwdriver in his hand. Rory caught a sharp-edged rage in that expression-sharp and clear and unrelenting, reflecting a passion that was either very good or very evil.

And then, of course, she had a gun.

"And who are you?" River asked Rory. Then she squinted again. "No, wait I've got it." She snapped her fingers. "Roman centurion."

There it was again: the smoked-glass panic of un-memories. He didn't quite recognize River, but he didn't quite not recognize her either. "Actually, it's Rory. Rory Williams."

"Rory," she repeated. "And human again. How interesting." She did not sound interested at all; in fact she seemed to find him terrifically dull. "And you're the boyfriend, or something, hmm? It was all so long ago."

Amy said, "Husband." She wiggled her left hand, showing off her ring. "Just married last month. Rory, this is Dr. Song."

"Married. _Right_. Last month?" At that, River's gaze softened. She almost smiled. "Congratulations."

River took a deep breath and pulled herself together like a child reassembling a tower of blocks. It was so complete and so seamless that Rory marveled. A calm and commanding presence poured into River's face and settled there for good. "We're in danger here," she pronounced. "You're both lucky to be alive. Come along. I'll tell you all about it on the way."

"The way to where?" said Amy, though she had already stepped forward.

"Safety," said River. She followed their glances. "No, not through the ceiling. We'll take a different route down." She turned around, focusing on a vent near the floor that Rory hadn't noticed before. River got her nails underneath the edge and gave it a firm tug. "We're in a new section," she explained, giving the vent cover another pull. "Administrative offices. The whole thing comes apart like puzzle pieces." She pulled on the vent cover. "Well. Sort of like puzzle pieces." She gritted her teeth and pulled.

Rory tapped her shoulder and offered her the screwdriver.

River looked at it for a long time. "Keep it." She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice under control. "You might need it later."

One more firm tug, and an assist from Amy, and the entire vent cover came loose from the wall. They were looking down at a hole that was even darker than the room behind them.

"After you," said River, nodding at Amy and Rory. "Quick as you like."

Rory looked back at the warden. He was barely visible, but his eyes and teeth still shimmered in the dark.

"What about him?" said Rory.

"What about him," said River.

"He won't report us? Sound the alarm? Anything?" River was, after all, a prisoner of this place, and apparently an escapee.

"Oh, I shouldn't think so," said River. She stared at the warden. An idea struck her, and she smiled. The tiniest crack in the facade. "Think fast, Rory Williams," she murmured. She pushed him aside, whirled—

And _smoked_ the man behind the desk.

Literally smoked him. The gun went whump, the man disintegrated into dust, and River blew a puff of smoke from the barrel before Rory had time to blink. He almost wet himself.

Amy was equally horrified.

"It's all right. " River peered at over the lip of the gun at the warden's empty chair. "Wait for it," she said softly. She held up a hand. "_Wait..."_

They tracked her gaze. There was a rushing noise like grains of sand on a distant tin roof. The dust congealed into a shadow, then a figure, then the smiling, nodding warden they'd seen a moment ago.

Amy and Rory gasped with astonishment and relief.

River grinned. "Honestly," she said. "It's just a Scarecrow."

"Okay," said Amy. She backed up, almost pressing herself into the wall. "Now _that_ is weird. I touched him a minute ago."

Rory almost talked over Amy. "And what the hell is a Scarecrow?"

"'A mock human designed to frighten pests away from crops,'" said River, in an imagine-not-knowing-that tone of voice.

"And which are we," said Rory. "The pests? Or the crops?"

"Oh, I like you," River decided, speaking almost to herself. "Now, into the hole, children." She dropped the gun in a holster at her hip. "I believe we have some very important things to tell each other. And you never know who's watching us up here."

Before Rory went down the vent, River began to gather the green orbs. The last thing Rory saw were the sightless eyes of the faux warden, glistening in the fading light.


	8. Into the hole

Into the hole.

Though it could not have taken more than twenty minutes, Rory would remember their descent into Stormcage Prison as one of the longest walks of his life. Down and down and down they went, through a vent system that was barely taller than Rory and sometimes quite a bit shorter. River Song would toss one of her green lights to the end of the hall. Sometimes it went as far as a hundred feet, sometimes only a meter, before she kicked it down a narrow shaft and followed it down.

Their footsteps echoed, and the shafts shook as if they were suspended. They were designed for the passage of air, not people, and Rory's footing slipped and slid. Rory thought about the terrible dark on the lower levels of Stormcage and wondered if they were descending into that or crawling over it, in immediate danger of tumbling through.

River always went first, beckoning to Rory and Amy when she was sure the passage ahead was safe. But never said a word about the danger they were in, only looked pale and worried. Her silence made the shadowy dark appear full of nameless menace, so that Rory and Amy huddled together and startled at every noise. Sometimes the light would hit her face in a certain way, or she'd make the wrong sort of expression, and Rory would think: _oh yeah_, but he never got further than that. He never forced it; there were two thousand years of things he wanted to forget.

At one point Amy said, "River, what happened?"

"Shh," River snapped. "Time enough for that later." But she took a moment to look over the couple and seemed to remember that not everyone spent their life crawling through dark shafts waiting to die. "There," she said. "It's not long now. We're safe enough. Let's talk." She started walking again, even more briskly than before. "How do you like being married?"

"It's the best," Rory said at once. "We're very happy."

Amy took his hand. "It's... busy," she said, but she squeezed his fingers.

"Isn't it?" River sighed. "Those early days are so _thrilling_, aren't they? So many decisions."

Rory was about to say that he had expected a rather different sort of thrill in his first months with his young wife. And that he had hoped their decisions would be rather on the order of city flat vs. country house. But the words stopped in his throat, because the metal corridor stopped in his face. There was no little shaft or ladder; no way up or through. Just a wall. River held up a hand to silence them and pressed her ear to the metal. She listened for a long time. She took her gun from her hip and used the end to bang on the wall—not in front of them, but to their left.

After a long silence: "Oy! Wot's the parse-word?"

The man's voice was muffled.

"It's me," River called. She looked over her shoulder at Amy and Rory. "And I've got two along."

"_Parse-word_," the voice insisted.

River said, "Open this door or I'll shoot it down."

"All right, all right," said the muffled voice. "Hold yer horses."

A series of loud bangs and creaks ensued on the other end of the corridor.

A thought seemed to strike River just then. She shuddered, frowned-whirled on Rory. She looked him right in the eye and rested a strong hand on his arm.

_Oh, right._ The memories came rushing back. "I know you!" Rory shouted. "You gave me the blue book! Before the wedding!"

"Shut up," said River, her jaw set. "There's going to be a little problem here in a minute."

"_But I remember you!_"

River swallowed. "Well, it's not really a problem."

"And you were at the Pandorica! You were...! With the... and the Doctor...! But you..."

"We already know that bit," said Amy patiently. "We were there."

"For God's sake _listen_ to me!" She shook Rory hard. Then she continued, whispering so low that Rory and Amy could barely hear. "There's about to be a thing. I should have thought about it before, but I didn't, so we're just going to have to roll with it now. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Hate me later."

A whole section of paneling swung away from the shaft. Amy ducked to see inside. River drew close to Rory, rested a hand on his chest, and spoke into his ear.

"For the next ten minutes all our lives depend on what you say," she whispered. "So keep your plastic mouth shut. I'll explain everything when we're in private. But for now, just _roll with it_."

Rory was at a bit of a loss. He'd never known what to say to powerful women. If River asked him to do anything, he'd probably do it. He hung on to the one point he understood. "It's, uh," he said. It's not plastic anymore."

"I've changed my mind about you," River murmured, without coming away. "I'm honestly not sure how Amy can stand you."

The panel had been slid entirely aside. They were looking into a metal cavern. It was some sort huge storage room or access corridor, converted into a temporary camp. There were as many as thirty people gathered there, constantly in motion: arguing, cooking, singing, coming in and going out through a half-dozen exits and entrances, huddling over maps, sharpening weapons. The noise was incredible. The people themselves were haggard. Several showed serious wounds, most were stained with blood; all were thin to the point of starvation. They all wore uniforms similar to River's, in various states of disrepair.

Not all of them were human.

"Meet the last people living at Stormcage Prison," River said softly.

The man at the door said, "Hello, mum!" and saluted. He was an old man with a moth-bitten beard, a bald head, and weepy gray eyes. He was the one who had demanded for the "parse-word" a moment ago. He greeted them so loudly that the rest of the room gradually fell silent. They all turned to look, the quicker members nudging the thicker ones, till all eyes were on River. It was as if she had risen from the dead. An awed whisper went up through the camp.

Then Rory realized they weren't looking at _her_.

###

Here's what the last people living at Stormcage saw:

Amelia Pond, who was known by many to travel with the Doctor, looking as young and fresh as early spring. She held hands with a young man whose eyes were older than his face and had a key on a lanyard around his neck. Peeking out of his raincoat pocket: the unmistakable shank of the sonic screwdriver. On the other side of him: River Song, whispering a secret in his ear.

"Oh my God," said a young, unshaven man. "It's him."


	9. It's him

The call rippled through the group fast as rumor.

"It's him." — "It's just as she said." — "We're safe!" — "I thought he'd be taller." The crowd seemed to press forward and back away all at once, torn between meeting him and fleeing for their lives.

Rory was horrified. Amy felt a fine tremor start in his hand. He went paper-white and started shaking his head vigorously. "I'm sorry," he started, "there's been a terrible—ow!"

River trod heavily on his foot. She smiled stiffly at the gathered crowd and clapped her hands vigorously. "Back to work, everyone," she said. "We've got a long night ahead. I want to see Mr. Belkin right away. And we could do with some tea."

The group stared at her with wide eyes.

"_Now_," said River. She bared her teeth in an expression that had only a casual resemblance to a smile.

Gradually the group returned to their various tasks, though they were markedly more silent than before, and kept sneaking sideways glances at Amy and Rory.

"River," Rory murmured.

"Just keep smiling," said River, whose own tense grin stretched her face.

The man who had first identified them was also the first to approach. He was a very young man—perhaps Amy's age, maybe a little older, though it was hard to tell in this situation. Everyone looked older than they were. He smelled of hard work and engine oil. His skin was the color of stained mahogany, and he had the whitest teeth Amy had ever seen. He pumped Rory's hand and bowed to Amy.

"It's a real honor, sir, a real honor," he enthused. "_Especially_ in this time of need. Everything they say about you is true. 'Answers all calls.' And _look_ at you. Wow! If I may say, you look almost entirely human, sir. Very clever, sir."

"Um," said Rory.

Amy snickered. She was as confused and badly worried as her husband, but the man's spirit was so infectious that she and River were both on the verge of laughter. She felt as if she was meeting an old friend.

River said, "May I introduce Patrick Belkin, our computer expert. He's the reason I was able to find you so quickly."

"Well," said Patrick. He almost blushed, then warmed to the praise. "I suppose that's fair enough. Eyes on you the minute you arrived, and let-me-tell-you, that box of yours sends out a damned weird energy signature." His expression darkened momentarily. "On that note: I'm sorry. I couldn't shield it. I wasn't the only one watching. It's prob'ly been taken up by now, sir. Sorry, sir."

Rory said, "Um."

"They've got the TARDIS?" Amy said, at the same time. "_Where?_"

"Oh, I'm sure it'll turn up, miss."

Amy's heart was in her throat. Of course, there was no way for anyone to get in, but on the other hand, if the Doctor got any better, there was no chance he would leave them. She imagined him rushing out into this disaster, knowing even less about it than Amy and Rory. And he didn't even have the psychic paper. What would those robot guards do to him?

Rory seemed to be recovering. "Who are _they_, exactly?"

"You don't _know_?" said Patrick, astonished.

River glared, but Rory had had enough. "No," he said. "We've been tossed, tracked, taken prisoner, lied to and apparently-" He glanced around at the steel hideaway. "Buried alive. And if somebody doesn't tell me what we're involved in, right now, I'm going to..." Here he trailed off. The truth was that he and Amy were surrounded by armed convicts who thought he was the Doctor. Rory wasn't going to do anything at all. "I don't know yet," he finished weakly. "But it will be very severe."

"Of course, sir," said Patrick. "I expect you've been busy. It's Gorgorans killing us, sir. Well. Just the advance guard now. But we expect them any day."

"Right. Good. And who are the Gor—ow! Will you _stop_ doing that?"

River lifted her foot off Rory's, but the damage was already done.

Fortunately, Patrick didn't seem to have a problem with the idea of the Doctor not knowing the Gorgorans, as unlikely as it was.

"Don't know them, sir? Well, I'll do better than tell you. I'll show you."

###

The first clip looked like every bad UFO video Amy had ever seen—blinking lights descending through the storm. When the lights reached the bottom of the screen, the image fuzzed and began again. It meant nothing to Amy, whose mind was still on the TARDIS and its sleeping occupant, but to Patrick it was the most significant video footage of his life.

"They came two days ago," said Patrick. He tracked the descending lights with his finger. The flickering images illuminated his dark face like the lights of a campfire. "The first wave is just one ship, no living crew, all shooters and Scarecrows. That's their method. They use the robots to take over, and the Scarecrows copy faces of the authorities. The warden and them." He shook his head sadly. "We're being murdered, and out there... they doesn't even know anything's gone wrong. There's no one to help us." The screen began to fuzz and show vertical lines. Patrick banged it vigorously. "The Gorgorans themselves follow-up the invasion force. Take over after the threat has been neutralized. We expect them very soon."

The four of them were crammed into a tiny shaft that had been jerry-rigged into a weird sort of computer lab. The room was so small that you couldn't stand up; Rory and Amy sat together, while River crouched next to them, studying her fingernails and pretending not to pay attention. The room was filled with electronic gear, most of it damaged. There was a spot with a thin mat where Patrick obviously slept. The shaft itself was in disrepair; scorches and smears of oil on the walls. Most of the stuff was in boxes and bags; Patrick was either moving out or moving in.

Only one screen was working, and it was cracked. Patrick had to keep pounding it to get the image to settle into something they could see. Still, Amy figured he must have pretty high status around here; it didn't seem like anyone else had private quarters.

Patrick tapped a code into the keyboard on his lap. The screen switched to a series of black-and-white CCTV images. She saw the motorcycle cops Amy and Rory had met up above—and a series of men and women and aliens, all in the same uniforms as River and Patrick. The mechanical guards were eliminating people, just as River had killed the faux warden. Except these victims didn't come back.

"You see? They don't need _us_," said Patrick. "They're interested in the prison. Just the physical building."

Amy watched two prisoners run down a corridor, only to be cornered by one of the guards. There was no sound, but Amy could almost hear them begging. The guard raised its gun—

Amy buried her face in Rory's shoulder, and he hugged her.

"But I thought..." Rory swallowed. He looked at River. "I thought you said they were fake."

"Only the ones that look human." River did not meet his eyes.

"Then why didn't they kill us?"

Patrick said, "I think I can answer that one, sir." He pounded another code into the keyboard. A new image appeared. Rory and Amy, showing the guards the psychic paper. "You showed them some kind of ID, yeah?" said Patrick. "They're programmed not to draw attention to themselves. It's too soon. They thought to put you off."

Amy said, "So how did you survive?"

"Well," said Patrick carefully.

"It's all right," said River. "It hardly matters anymore."

Patrick nodded. "You have to understand, secure as this place is, its strength is its isolation. Even if I managed to get out, where would I go? It's not safe outside, simple as that. So _internal_ security is not quite up to par, if you know what I mean. Plenty of us used the vents even before this. Nobody cares. After all..." Patrick patted the metal affectionately. "It's just another cell in the end."

"Except now it's a refuge," said Amy. "Like a secret base."

"If you were quick enough," said Patrick, smiling a little.

The Doctor would love this, Amy thought. It was just his sort of thing. Once again she missed him deeply, not only because he'd know what to do, but because he'd cheer them on. Criminals or no.

Rory's concerns were more practical. "Are we safe here?"

Patrick scoffed. "Not a chance. They know we're here." He shrugged. "But they can't get down here. Too heavy. They fall right through. So they do things to annoy us. You know: cut off the air, flood the shafts with gas or bees, that sort of thing. There were a few hundred of us to start. Now we're the only ones left."

"_Bees?_" Amy blurted.

"Oh, they're not proper bees," said Patrick, as if that was reassuring.

"Can you predict when that will happen?" said Rory.

"Nope," said Patrick cheerfully. "Exciting, isn't it?"

Amy heard a loud clatter from the end of the hall. Both she and Rory gasped. Patrick looked up casually and smiled. "Oh," he said. "Tea."

Patrick climbed over them to a pair of men who stood at the end of the shaft. They handed tea and sandwiches through the tiny doorway. He passed them back like it was a bucket brigade.

When they had all been thoroughly supplied, River gave Patrick a sharp look. Patrick sort of frowned and squinted back. River tipped her head, and Patrick glowered and shook his head. Amy and Rory looked back and forth, watching a silent argument being conducted entirely by stare.

Finally Patrick sighed. He saluted Amy and Rory, tapping his head like he was touching the brim of an invisible cap. "I think I'll leave you lot for a bit. I'm sure you have things to talk about. Plans to make." He looked at Rory with perfect trust. "Let me say again, sir, that we're really very glad you beat the Gorgorans here. We're all counting on you."


	10. Let me get this straight

"So let me get this straight," said Rory. "Let me get this really clear and organized in my head."

"All right." River Song inspected the screen on the wall, which had looped back to the UFO landing Patrick had shown them before. She checked a few of the cables, then simply ripped the thing off the wall. It snapped and sparked in her hands. She tucked the unit into a nearby box and followed it with the keyboard.

Rory ticked the problems off on his fingers. "This prison—which Amy says is the most secure prison, ever—was attacked by one ship of alien robots."

"It's designed to keep people in, not out," said River. She clapped a lid on the box and stacked it on top of similar boxes in a far corner.

"Some people, viz., yourself, 'Mr. Belkin' and the other... people out there hid in the ventilation system to survive."

"Exactly how much time," said River, "does the Doctor _spend_ explaining things to you people?" By the time River got involved, this bit was usually done.

Amy took one sip of her tea, frowned, and spit the liquid delicately back into her cup. "Quite a bit, actually," she said. "I think he likes it."

River rolled her eyes.

Rory couldn't stop. Not normally rude or unsociable, he kept going right over the ladies' chat, in a slow monotone. "And in a little while—we don't know how long—some other aliens are going to come round and finish the job, whatever _the job_ is, cos—by the way—I don't think their goal is just to kill everyone and have done."

"The Gorgorans," said River. She sat in the space she'd cleared, making a neat triangle with Amy and Rory. "And technically_ we're _more alien than they are. Gorgor is part of this system."

Rory really didn't care. "Meanwhile they could cut off our _air_ at any moment, and we're basically helpless to stop them."

"That's broadly correct," said River. "Though I think—"

"_No." _ If he was standing he would have put his foot down. "Cause what puts the tin lid on this thing, what really makes it all _work_, I mean, as an existential sort of crisis, is that they—" He pointed down the shaft— "think I'm _him." _

There was no mistaking whom Rory meant by _him. _ The Doctor had such a presence in all their lives that he a way of entering every conversation, even the ones he wasn't in. "They really think I'm him, and for some reason, you _want_ them to think that." As he talked his face grew dark, and his eyes went wide as dinner plates.

"You're panicking," said River calmly.

"I'm not even _close_," Rory snapped. "The people out there—your plucky band of survivors—they're all murderers, right? And thieves and pirates. What do you think they're going to do to Amy when they find out?"

"What do you think they'll do to _me_?" River fired back. "I told them he was coming. I _promised_. You think you're in trouble? Well, you're right about everyone here. They're not in prison because of their social skills." She rubbed her eyes with a pale hand. "The only thing that's keeping them together and alive is hope. And the minute that goes..." She shook her head. "The Gorgorans will be the least of our problems. We'll lose ourselves long before they get here. And that may not mean much to you but it's all I've got left. Literally _all I've got_."

For a moment Rory saw a crack in her composure. Her hands curled into white-knuckled fists in her lap. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

She said, "Now, could someone _please_ tell me what's happened to the Doctor." She kept her eyes closed and her voice level. "Because if he was all right, he'd be here by now."

Silence ruled. River had admitted to something that should not have been said: that in addition to all the other problems, it was possible that no one was coming to rescue them. In every other situation, the Doctor had their backs, but no more. Maybe never again. And that was an unspeakable loss—not just for River and Amy and Rory, who knew him, and not just for the refugees who trusted him—but for good-hearted people everywhere.

"No," said Amy. She had watched the row without speaking, torn between her worried husband and her heartbroken friend, but now she had something to contribute. She scooted to River and rested a light hand on her arm. "He's fine," she said. "Or at least he was, the last time we saw him."

Rory thought she was putting too bright a face on things. "Something happened to him while we were sleeping," he said. "It's like he's unconscious. We couldn't wake him. We actually..." He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "It was sort of random, but we actually came here for _help._"

At River's side, Amy caught his eye.

Rory took the hint, but spoke too brightly. "But Amy's right. There's nothing really wrong with him. He's just sort of... sleeping. I'm a nurse," he explained. "I mean, used to be. A long time ago."

River opened her eyes. "A nurse," she repeated. "He's always had a thing for medical people." She spoke with a sad affection, as if talking about an old friend who'd moved away.

"Well, he is a doctor," Amy pointed out.

River smiled. "Right." She tossed off her melancholy, and once again, Rory was impressed by her self-control. Impressed—and slightly saddened, because anybody who was that contained wasn't used to relying on other people.

"Here's what we're going to do," River decided. "Rory. I know this is going to be difficult, and I'm sorry, but you need to keep up the facade. It's very important. Lie, pretend, act, whatever. But you _be what they think_, for as long as you can. We'll try not to make it long."

Rory swallowed. A hunted look inched back into his expression. "Okay. I'll try. If you two are with me, I'll—"

"That's the other thing. Amy and I are going to get the TARDIS."

"_Both of you_?" Rory blurted.

"I can't do it alone," said River.

"Why not?"

"Because," said River. She reached behind Amy's neck, hooked her finger around Amy's lanyard, and pulled. Her TARDIS key showed at her throat. Amy put a tender hand over it.

"It's all right," said Amy. "I get it."

"Why don't you just give her the key?" Rory asked her.

"She can't," said River. "It's Amy's key. It won't work for me."

Amy nodded her confirmation.

"Then take _mine_," said Rory, pulling at it.

"No," said River. "Maybe—but no. We can't go with variables right now. Only sure things."

"But I can't fight a war alone," Rory pleaded.

River said, "You'd be surprised what you can do alone."

"But I _can't_. You can't expect me to... negotiate with them, or fight them, or anything the Doctor would do."

"No!" said River, shaking her head. "No. Don't you dare. Just... keep leading them down."

"Down?" said Amy.

"There's a reactor core at the bottom of the prison," said River. "That's where we were headed. It's warm down there. There's all kinds of energy, which should confuse their instruments and signals. You'll have a better chance there than you would anywhere else."

Rory said, "But not a _good_ chance."

"I won't lie to you," said River. "You have the worst job of all. The most dangerous. But we will come back." She leaned on each word, making the whole sentence seem almost real. "That's a promise. I can't guarantee that we'll win, but we'll be back with the TARDIS before the end."

Rory wanted to believe it. But all he felt was cold.


	11. You can feel like you're falling

You can feel like you're falling even when you're climbing up—that was one of life's punch lines. Amy balanced the heels of her trainers on a steel cord and reached down, tipping and swaying, to take River's hand and pull her onto the same wire. They rested their hands on the far wall and stared up. That's where they were going: up, up as far as the eye could see.

Even higher than the courtyard where Amy and Rory had landed.

The TARDIS would be long gone from there. It was too subtle and valuable to leave out for the elements. It was a spoil of war, even if the advance guard didn't understand exactly what it was—or what it contained. They'd take it as close to the roof as they could, so the Gorgoran leadership could take a crack at it. That meant traveling up. Thin logic, to Amy, but River was the expert. Or as close to _the_ expert as Amy was likely to get.

So Amy and River went up, while Rory and the others went down. But Amy felt like she was treading air. She had agreed to River's plan almost silently and without complaint. Amy's obligation tugged inside her like she was a fish on a line. But how could she leave Rory? Yeah, it wasn't forever—they hoped. But every time she chose the Doctor... every time she chose _this_, Rory felt it. Her hand still ached where Rory usually held it; he'd gripped it like a vise since they first understood the profound danger they were all in. It felt empty now; weightless. And her lips still stung where he'd kissed her goodbye.

They'd already lost each other once. How many times could you leave someone before they started to hate you?

River's voice interrupted this sad litany. "It's difficult, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" said Amy, affecting calm.

"Leaving. Or getting left." She shrugged. "Not that there's much difference in the end."

"I'm fine," said Amy. She took a deep breath and swept a spare strand of hair behind her ear.

River smiled tightly. She used the torch she had borrowed from Amy to point out a hollow in the wall, about forty feet above them. "If we can get up there, we're back near the guards' offices. It's all short and narrow up there. We won't have to worry about falling for hours."

"All right."

That reminded Amy—part of her disorientation was due to the fact that it was a long drop to the ground. Working as a team, and never quite certain of their footing, they had climbed very high in less than an hour. Where there were no access ladders, they climbed wires. Stormcage drew a lot of power, and many of the wires were strong enough to bear the weight of two nimble women.

But not all of them.

"Careful," River didn't have to say. She reached out and tagged a wire with the end of the torch. It didn't spark so she gave it a tug with her hand. When she was sure it would bear her weight, she hooked an arm round it and sprung up, quick as an acrobat. Amy was ready and didn't stumble when the wires began to rock and twist.

River braced herself and extended a hand. Amy took hold of it. But at that moment—for no reason that Amy could see—Amy's wedding band bit sharply into her hand. She gasped and her foot slipped and both wires they were balanced on shuddered and swung as if they'd been thrown into the storm outside.

_"Amy!"_

They were both in danger of a deadly fall. River struggled to balanced herself. Her hand closed around Amy's wrist hard and cold as a shackle. She'd never let go of a friend to save herself; that was one way River and the Doctor were alike. One way that Amy had always feared she was different.

They stood frozen until the swinging began to slow. It took a bit longer for their own shaking to subside.

"Okay," breathed River. "Okay?"

"I'm all right," said Amy, though she felt cold and mushy inside, and her ankles ached.

"Amy, you have to be _here_," said River. She shook Amy's hand as if to wake her from a dream.

"Oh, I'm here," said Amy. Stretched between two wires, she had a perfect view of the distant floor. "Definitely here now," she said in a fake-perky voice.

River said. "Can you push with your feet?"

Amy tried. She was too badly balanced now; she couldn't get any purchase.

River saw and understood. "No problem," she said. She looked over Amy's shoulder again and repeated it to herself, more slowly and thoughtfully. "No problem." She made eye contact with Amy again and smiled. "What's Rory's favourite book?"

"Due respect, River," said Amy breathlessly. "Is this really the time for a book talk?"

"This could be the last conversation you ever have," said River cheerfully. "Might as well make it interesting." River looked authentically interested, like they were having a cozy little chat in a cafe.

Seeing excuse not to answer, Amy said, "We don't really have much time for reading these days." She blinked a few times. She was staring down a dark hole more than five storeys high. "I can't _imagine _why."

"Oh, there's always time for a good book," said River. "I'm partial to mysteries."

Amy tried to play along. "I suppose you need an escape."

"In more ways than one," said River sincerely. "Know what the Doctor's favourite is?"

Amy's ears perked up. Even with her life on the line she was always on the alert for information about her most mysterious friend. "I suppose it changes," said Amy.

"Surprisingly little."

"_To Kill a Mockingbird,_" Amy guessed. "He is..." she paused to get her breath. _"...So_ Atticus Finch."

"You're wrong," said River. "It's _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_."

Of course it was. Amy rolled her eyes.

"You want to know something else?" River said.

"Eh?"

"You're not thinking about your footing anymore."

Amy blinked. River felt her tense up. At the same moment River pulled up, hard as she could.

It was a good plan; River liked it. The same dreaminess that had caused Amy to lose her footing, turned to their advantage. If Amy wasn't in mortal terror of falling, her balance would restore itself; it was a natural function of the human brain.

But psychology can't trump physics—at least, not in this universe. Not yet.

At the last moment, when River was _certain_ it had worked, when she was bearing all of Amy's weight, Amy's grip weakened.

She slipped out of River's grasp.


	12. Meanwhile

Meanwhile, Rory Williams—posing as doctor—and company had been waylaid by a door.

With River's orders and encouragement, it had taken only minutes to break down the prisoners' camp inside the walls. But that fragile discipline was already cracking without a strong personality to hold it together; and when Rory understood that he was supposed to be that strong personality, it was all he could do to keep from gibbering.

He did not like to think of himself as a weak man. In his life he had faced down many enemies and stood witness to the wax and wane of Time. If he ever got a moment to pause for breath, he might even be proud of himself. The trouble was... the trouble was, that is to say, when he sidled right up to it, the trouble was... at heart Rory was an ordinary person. His life had made him a little sharper on his pins than usual, but other than that he was absolutely nothing to write home about. He was not particularly clever or witty. He was not very ambitious. He had never made decisions. He liked football and beer and little villages; he was afraid of terrorism; he found politics alternately dull and alarming; he believed in God but never attended church. Even the wax and wane of Time had failed to make a deep impression. The best anybody could say about Rory—including Rory himself—was that Amy Pond had liked him enough to marry him. The worst that anybody could say was that he meant well.

Life was something that happened to people like Rory. It was not a quest, but a series of unexpected events. He did as he was told and tried to stay out of trouble, and that was his complete philosophy and approach. Mostly it had worked. Even out here in the universe, it had worked. It's very difficult for fate to trip up a man who had no plans.

_But somehow it manages_, he thought, staring at the door.

It wasn't really a door; it was more of a hatch. There was a heavy metal cover over it, and through the slats Rory could see another set of anonymous prison hallways. It was set about waist-height into the wall, and it was absolutely imperative that Rory find a way through. This was the problem. Rory could not even see how it was secured, much less how to release it. And then of course they'd be back among the mechanical guards and the Scarecrows and god-only-knew-what-else.

Every few minutes Rory would get up from his crouch, and the whole group behind him would gasp and step back, as if he were about to do a dangerous magic trick. Then Rory would settle down to stare at the hatch from a different angle, and there would be a collective sigh, partly of relief and partly of disappointment. Rory imagined that the proportion of disappointment to relief increased every time he failed to act.

Patrick the computer expert had explained it to him. Stormcage was made up of several levels, stacked on each other like a set of stacked levels (here Patrick had gestured, showing two imaginary wheels on top of each other). They were on the top level; if they wanted to get to the prison's energy core, they'd have to cross at least one corridor, which meant leaving the relative safety of the ventilation system.

How many levels are there, Rory had said.

Patrick said, we were hoping you'd know.

I thought it was something like that, said Rory.

The erstwhile mechanic, carrying a heavy pack of wires and equipment, tapped Rory on the shoulder and said, "Sir, we _are_ a bit pressed for time..."

Rory wondered what the Doctor would say. Probably something like, shut up, I'm thinking.

"Shut up," said Rory. "I'm thinking."

He thought mostly about what would happen if he put the kibosh on the whole operation and let somebody else solve the bloody door. He spared a little time on how the Doctor had got off easy by slipping into a coma, and then weighed the relative merits of banging on the door till someone came to arrest him. But then his brain tortured him with questions of what Amy would say, and what River Song might think of him, and he shifted his weight and dropped his chin into his hand and thought very hard about how to move forward.

There was a little gasp and a sigh from the two-dozen thieves and murderers standing just behind him. It was almost all disappointment now. Maybe a little frustration.

"Doorways," he murmured. It seemed like he'd spent his whole day getting locked in and out of places he didn't want to be in the first place. It was all doorways and passages. For a moment he seemed to be on the verge of a truly significant insight, but it began and ended with _doorways_.

"You might try your magic wand, there, sir," Patrick prodded.

Rory blinked. "What?"

"Your sonic screwdriver, sir. It'd do a number on the sonic screws."

"Sonic screws," Rory repeated.

"That are all round the hatch, sir?" The mechanic nodded, in case Rory had forgotten which hatch they were talking about.

"Oh, the _sonic_ screws," said Rory. "Right." He nodded authoritatively and patted the door. "Completely sonic, no doubt about it." He reached into the pocket of his raincoat—he'd never taken it off, it was still damp enough in the shafts—and took out the Doctor's screwdriver. He stared at it as if it were a completely alien piece of technology.

"Lovely little piece, if I may say so, sir," said Patrick, leaning close and peering over Rory's shoulder. He spoke with an engineer's casual pride. "If you did up the customizations yourself, you're not bad."

In fact, it was a nice little gadget, if you were the sort of person who went in for that sort of thing. It had a comfortable warm weight. Rory was pretty sure he knew which end to hold. He wondered if Patrick knew how to use it. For all Rory knew, Patrick had written the manual on sonic screwdrivers, but Rory but couldn't think of a safe way to ask him.

"Why do you do that, Patrick?" he said, without looking up.

"What's that, sir?"

"Call me _sir_," said Rory. He rolled the screwdriver between his fingers. There was a tiny button, and some things that might be dials, or just decoration.

_What was the last thing the Doctor sonic-ed? Had it been a lock?_

"It's polite, sir. Dr. Song said you were a lord."

"That can hardly matter, down here," said Rory, who wasn't anything close to a lord.

"It matters _more_, sir," said Patrick, with such innocent sincerity that Rory revised his age downward a few years. How such a young man had ended up in serious prison was a question that gave Rory a little bit of pause. Especially since Patrick seemed determined to stay right as his elbow, basically worshipping him.

_It might have been a lock. Might've been._

Rory leveled the pointy end of the screwdriver at the door. He felt the other prisoners take in a deep breath. With out looking back he heard them whisper, felt them nudging each other.

Rory looked at Patrick, who was staring at the door like he could bring it down by stare. "What did you do, Patrick? How'd you get in here?"

Patrick flushed as if Rory had asked him about his first kiss. "Oh, the usual, sir." He grinned. "Usual for me, anyway. Identity theft."

Rory coughed, fumbled the screwdriver, but got a better grip on it. His thumb naturally rested on a little silver button. He depressed it a little, and the screwdriver hummed. Rory felt in his teeth.

"No big deal," said Patrick. "Saving he was a peer. A lord, actually. Like yourself, sir."

"_Really._" There was a sharp tingle in Rory's hand. He gripped his wrist like he'd once seen a man hold a gun in a TV show. To steady it. The hum got louder.

"But you've got nothing to fear from me, sir," said Patrick. "I'm reformed. Anyway, I can't _imagine_ what the sentence would be for stealing _your_ identity, Doctor." The young engineer chewed his lip thoughtfully, imagining the ramifications.

Rory bit his tongue. He pressed the button harder than he'd ever pressed a button before.

"Life would be too good for him, don't you think, sir?"

The sonic screwdriver screamed.

It was not the screwdriver's normal cheery whistle. It was rather sharper. Quite a bit sharper, in fact. A wave of energy seemed to jump for Rory's hand to the door. The groups lanterns and torches dimmed. People clamped their hands to their ears and saw stars. Rory saw all the colors of the rainbow and tasted ozone.

The metal grate vibrated, then shattered.

Rory gently lifted his thumb from the button. "Wow," he said. He wiped a bit of sweat from under his nose and discovered that it was blood. He sniffed and swallowed. The screwdriver had never done _that_ before. It was hot in his hand. "Wow."

The sentiment seemed to be a common one.

Doorways and passageways. Rory remembered who he was supposed to be. He sucked down his awe and fear, and tucked the screwdriver in his pocket as if he did this kind of thing every day. He dusted off his hands. "See?" he told Patrick in a thin, reedy voice. "Your basic sonic screws, there."

"No kidding," said Patrick politely. He hefted his pack. "Now, we'd better—"

They heard a sound like something small and solid, falling from a great height, some distance behind them.

Rory's stomach twisted. "Amy," he said.

But before the true horror of the moment could settle on his shoulders, a much, much louder sound crashed through his psyche. It was the echo of shattering metal, combined with the scrape of stone on stone, and the moan of mechanics pushed to their absolute limits, and the roar of a shuttle hitting atmosphere, and it was none of these things. It was something entirely new that Rory had never heard before. It came from high above them. The whole prison shook. The band of prisoners were rocked against each other. Something was coming.

###

Amy opened her eyes and was very surprised to learn that she was alive.

She'd slipped, she'd fallen, but she'd never hit the ground. The story of her life, since she'd started traveling with the Doctor. Her limbs were caught in a nest of wires, several dozen feet below River. She felt relatively secure, if a bit shaken and bruised, but was afraid to move.

Everything was shaking. At first she thought it was just her. Then she realized that her that horrible sound was not inside her head, but some ways above them. The sound was so loud that it caused everything to shake. River, who had been trying to make her way back to Amy, was forced to stop. River was yelling, her voice muted by the noise.

River pointed at Amy, then at the hole they'd been climbing toward. _Now_, River's lips read. _Right now. Go! Go! _Then with a look of worry and regret, she turned away from Amy and began to climb frantically up.

That noise! It was the loudest thing Amy had ever heard. Louder than thunder. And it was getting closer.

Amy was up with a speed that would have impressed anyone who hadn't spent the last year of her life running through corridors. This time she did not stop to think about anyone. She went up like a bird. She let gravity make its own decisions.

Something was coming. And if they wanted the Doctor back, they had to beat it there.

###

Something was coming.

It was the Gorgoran ship, ready to claim all its prizes: prison, storm and blue box. It was coming.

And then it was here.

* * *

_The story concludes in "Stormcage" (Part 2). Before you go, I hope you'll take a minute to share your review! Thanks for reading. It's been a blast. -N_


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